


The Unremembered

by Kaiyou



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Sburb, giftfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyou/pseuds/Kaiyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift for Elfierae. This may be expanded in the future, idk. Post-sburb back on human world, Dave Strider is saddled with an angry troll who lives on his roof, but their memories tie them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unremembered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElfieRae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfieRae/gifts).



The view when you step out onto your roof is just what you expect.

A dying sun paints the Houston sky red in the west. Smog-filled skies reflect the light like they were on fire. In the east, darkness is beginning to fall and the first few shining stars are trying to punch their way through the haze. A small bundle of blankets sits on the edge of the roof. You know without even being over there to see that the small body huddled inside the cocooned fabric is hunched over looking down at the screen of some shitty little tablet, watching the unfolding of a past that doesn’t even know who he is.

“Hey,” you say. 

There’s no answer and you scrunch up your face in annoyance, sighing because if it wasn’t for the fact that you are the only one in existence who can remember the other’s existence, you might be tempted to let him just be alone all the time.

As it is...

Your footsteps crunch on the rocky gravel as you go over to the huddled form. He doesn’t move. He knows it’s you. As you get close he actually just starts to hunch a bit closer, and you want to yell at him for that, for the selfishness of the action.

After all, it’s not like he’s the only one who’s lost friends.

You like a turn once in awhile with the tablet too, even if it is weird to see a Terezi that can actually see and isn’t licking everything to find flavors. You miss her like woah. Girl was the best, and a part of you just wants to try and reach out and re-establish your friendship, get to know her again - but even if its her it isn’t your her. 

She doesn’t need you to be her palemate anyways, not anymore.

The new, improved, less of a bitch Aradia fills that quadrant nicely.

Your hand curls around Karkat’s shoulder and you frown because he’s shaking - and while it is getting pretty damn cold here (colder than it normally gets in Houston, but that’s global warming for you) when you pull him back to look at him you just see red and its -

“Shit, what the fuck did you do you fucking jackass! There’s no way it’s ok for you to -”

And before you know it you’ve got your arms full of troll and are running down the stairs - warned you dog - almost tripping over yourself in your rush to get him to your apartment to see what the fuck is wrong with him.

To hell with his stubborn alien-ass ‘I CAN TAKE CARE OF MY OWN SHAMEGLOBES YOU HUMAN ASSHOLE’ schtick, this time he’s done a number on himself, you just know it, even as he’s flailing and trying to get his arms unwrapped from the blankets that have him wrapped up tight. For a moment the bizarre image of a cat wrapped in a towel flashes through your head, and you almost smirk at the irony of it before getting him in the bathroom and getting him unwrapped.

“WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE WHY DID YOU -”

“Shut the fuck up dude. What the fuck did you do? Are you ok? It’s not like I can take you to a hospita -”

“I AM PERFECTLY FINE YOU OVERGROWN FACSIMILE OF A REASONABLY DECENT HUMAN BEING, STOP MOLESTING ME!”

You ignore him though, looking at one wrist and then the other, grabbing a towel to wipe away the blood-red liquid, not really noticing as the precious tablet slides across the floor as the two of you grapple. He’s small, almost a foot shorter than you, but he’s strong.

“UNHAND ME YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE FUCK MY EXISTENCE JUST FUCK IT FUCK IT -”

And as you fail to find any wounds, you remember a strange fact about troll anatomy that had somehow escaped your memory for a moment.

The red liquid staining your hands might not be blood. Unlike human, all of a troll’s bodily fluids match their blood color.

And considering the state of the angry eyes glaring up at you, you have a pretty good idea of what this bodily fluid is.

. . .

A good person probably would let the poor shuddering mass of overly-emo troll wallow in his own misery on the bathroom floor. A bad person would snatch up the tablet and close the door behind him, taking the momentary emotional breakdown as a chance to peruse objects of his own interest. For some reason, you fail to fall into either of those categories.

“Ok so you aren’t bleeding out. What the fuck has your panties in such a twist, Karkles?”

“YOU ALREADY KNOW I DON’T WEAR ANY SUCH UNDERGARMENTS.”

“More’s the pity.”

“CAN’T A MAN JUST MOURN THE FACT THAT ALL THE ROMANTIC COMEDIES OF THE PAST FIVE YEARS HAVE BEEN UTTER SPECTACULAR DISASTERS EVEN BY HUMAN STANDARDS?”

Well he has a point there, but you’re fairly certain that isn’t it.

Especially since you’ve more than once caught the little bastard asleep on your couch with the Netflix screen up. You’re fairly certain he intends to abscond before you wake up, but more and more it seems like he’s been dragging his miserable body down to try and find some sort of comfort in the night. You don’t blame him - the temperature in the maintenance shed on your roof must be pretty awful lately. Really, you’ve extended an invitation to live in the apartment more than once - it’s almost painfully lonely with Bro gone - but the stubborn mutant resists all attempts at what he calls charity.

Well, he doesn’t call it charity, but you have no desire to waist brainspace on the incomprehensible ramblings of an alien being. 

You wait him out, sitting back and just watching him from behind your shades.

He rants and yells and screams and you’re fairly glad that your neighbors don’t really give a shit about loud noises. You’re also fairly sure that, whatever his deal was, he’s feeling better given the chance to yell a bit. Your gaze drifts toward the tablet thinking it might hold some answers. Not that you care. Not really. But its also good to see a more normal flush of color reappear on his cheeks.

“YOU ARE AN INSUFFERABLE PIECE OF SHIT WHY THE FUCK DID THE GOGS DECIDE TO LEAVE ME HERE WITH YOU I DON’T EVEN -”

He moves suddenly and picked up the tablet, shoving it into your hands. 

“THERE, YOU YOU FUCKING HAPPY YOU ASSWIPE? ENJOY THE SHOW, YEAH, LAUGH IT UP.”

That said he pulls the blankets back around himself and turns the other way, leaving you to look down at the glass in your hands. 

Oh.

On the screen a troll with messy hair appears to be creating some sort of sad painting about another troll with wide horns and a winning smile. Gamzee looks - oddly healthy, in a way. Still fucked up, and you can see sopor pies in the corner, but not nearly as psychotic as you remember him.

It’s easy to recognize Tavros in the painting, especially since Karkat has another window open with the brown-blooded troll walking hand in hand with a blue-clothed spider girl, blushing shyly at her. 

“You miss him.”

“NO FUCKING SHIT I MISS HIM YOU HUMAN GRUBWORM WITH A BALL OF FROZEN SUBSTANCE FOR A HEART. I’M THE SHITTIEST FUCKING MOIRAIL EVER. MY PAST SELF SHOULD GO DOWN TO THE BOTTOMLESS PITS OF THE FIERY CHASMS IF HE HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH.... WITH....”

You both know. 

You both know, and both don’t have answers. And you’re the only ones to ask.

None of the trolls remember - not that you know. Not that you’ve been able to see. It’s like the stories of the first reset only better. Well, depending on what you meant by better. No scary hateful place anymore, just normal, shiny happy people land. Mostly happy. Gamzee looks decidedly unhappy.

An empty space where a moirail should be.

Kinda like you yourself.

It’s a thought you’ve pondered over the years while chatting with John, Jade, and Rose. At least they remember who you are. 

Though you’re not sure if the fact that they can’t remember a thing about the time of the game makes things better or worse.

Hell, their whole lives have changed. Jade now lives with John and Dad, Rose with Mom, both parents alive and well, everyone seemingly rewarded with their hearts desire or something. You aren’t sure how the rules worked. How the reset worked. All you know is that you and Karkat got fucked over and everyone else -

Maybe you had to believe in something to know how to wish upon a star.

“Get a shower.”

You stand and let the tablet rest on the corner of the sink, closing the door behind you. 

There’s no sound for a few minutes, and then you hear the sound of water. 

You don’t know why you care.

You don’t know why you care, but you do.

. . .

You’re mixing in the living room on Bro’s old decks when he comes out. It’s not really flowing at the moment. Hence why you catch sight as he shuffles out of the bathroom, grey brow furrowing at the sight outside the window. “What is that white stuff?”

“Snow.”

You should be more surprised, but you just aren’t really in the mood. You probably wouldn't have even noticed except that John and Jade had messaged you - together, both dressed in some sort of kitschy holiday elf costumes - to congratulate you on the weather. 

John had been all excited about some gig he’d gotten but you hadn’t been in the mood to really pay attention and he knew it. He’d tell you later. You look forward to it, really, even if you don’t feel it at the moment.

Rose is pestering you but you aren’t really in the mood to talk to her either. 

Of all the people you know, she’s the one most likely to pick this up, and the fact that she hasn’t makes you sad when you think about it. It’s all a part of the weird package that keeps Karkat from being noticed. Thats what you figure, at least. 

It makes you feel like there’s something wrong with your friends that they don’t remember. Like they are messed with.

You don’t say anything to Karkat about staying in the apartment.

He wants to argue about it, you know it. Know he wants to do it just to fight, but you don’t have the fight in you right now. So he just grumbles something under his breath and sits down on the futon, cursing as he tries to manipulate the remote controls that have been scratched and dented by his claws countless times before. 

He goes to netflix and turns on Star Trek. You are constantly bemused by his fascination with the show. Possibly it’s the aliens, possibly not. You’ve remarked more than once about its inconsistency with his normal romantic comedy interests. He, on the other hand, has given long-winded poetic speeches about how the relationship between McCoy, Spock and Kirk is a classical romantic mix up, with the three of them quadrant flipping like there is no tomorrow.

You don’t see it.

It doesn’t matter.

You push back from the deck and shuffle over to sit down next to him, snorting slightly at his chosen episode. “You know, you have probably seen this one twenty times.”

He glares at you and then turns back to the screen, watching the crew members of the next generation ship wander around trying to piece together clues of some sort of timelapse. You know how it ends - in the end, it turns out their short term memory was wiped, and only Data knew the truth. The parallels are not lost on you.

“You aren’t a fucking robot, dude. You’re like the furthest thing from a fucking -”

“OBVIOUSLY THE ROBOT IS YOU.”

“Pardon?”

“YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT! YOU AND YOUR DICK - EXCUSE ME, DIRK - YOU ARE ALL JUST A WHOLE FAMILY OF FUCKING UNFEELING UNEMOTIONAL ASSHOLE -”

Your fist is in the couch next to his head before you notice. You glare down, seeing a slight shock in his eyes then the stubborn set of his mouth and both of you just freeze. You’re so tired of this. Tired of holding back, tired of not being able to talk about this with your best bro, tired of morning your Bro and not being able to tell anyone except this sniveling worm with excrement-filled orifices -

One orifice of which is currently latched onto your mouth, like his hand is latched onto your shirt -

“Dude! What the fuck man?”

You have pushed yourself back off the couch away from Karkat, wiping your mouth and frowning when you notice red on your hand. Blood. Your blood. You taste it from a bite on your lip. Narrowing your eyes, you continue, “I’m not some fucking stand-in for Gamzee you stupid -”

Angry troll is not something your strifes with Bro taught you to deal with.

An angry troll launching himself at you feels oddly familiar though, and for a moment, it occurs to you that you missed this. Missed grappling with the nooksucking bastard. Miss your cape, that you could really use right now just to wrap around the fucking struggling kitten who finally submits when you have his wrists held down on the ground and you’re straddling him and he’s spitting up at you with red on his face that isn’t tears or your blood and -

“YOU FUCKING ASSWIPE OF AN IDIOT HOW THE FUCK DID TEREZI EVER PUT UP WITH YOU DON’T YOU KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A FUCKING MOIRAIL AND A FLUSHED QUADRANT OH MY GOG WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HER YOU FUCKING -”

So you kiss him.

Hard.

Biting down enough that you hear this keen come from his throat, and feel his body arching up beneath yours, and it wasn’t what you expected to do tonight or hell ever but it just feels

so

fucking

right

and you can’t help it.

You don’t hate him, but he makes you angry.

You don’t hate hiim, can’t hate him, but want to hurt him because you hurt so fucking much and he’s the only one who knows and gets it and he should be tearing into you as well because you’ve let his wrists go but you just feel his claws in your hair and on your back pushing you down against him and -

It doesn’t matter.

Black, Red, Pale, Ashen, all the fucking troll quadrant shit that doesn’t really mean anything to you right now -

Because it isn’t about what anyone else thinks, or cares about.

It doesn’t matter if you’re filling quadrants or expectations of anyone.

It’s just -

This is the most alive you’ve felt in months. Years. Feeling his warmth against yours. Tasting your blood together. Hearing his strange alien noises that are incredibly fucking musical especially as you grind down against him, even if you aren’t quite sure what it is you’re grinding against. 

You’ll find out. Later.

Right now though, you just want this.

And for once -

For once, Karkat isn’t complaining.

~~~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
